


Visions

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly crowned Prime has a ghostly visitor in the middle of the night (request for Anonymous Femme).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous Femme asked for Optimus/Solus, and while I wasn't able to puzzle out a scenario with actual interfacing or romance I hope I did the job well enough with this (cough lazy cough) attempt.

Optimus hadn’t been Prime for very long when the voices started. At first they were like rustmites in his processor, crawling around and occasionally nipping at his audio receptors, demanding his attention to flick them away. All it took was a slight adjustment of his frequency receiver to block them out, a little more each time as the whispers grew louder and thicker. He still couldn’t make them out from the eternal ambience of the ever-busy Autobot base.

Then came the visions. 

They arrived during tactical meetings with Prowl or target practice with Ironhide, during his morning energon ration or just as he was slipping into recharge or his precious comm sessions with Elita, so far away in Vos. When they forced themselves on Optimus it was like viewing the world through broken glass, everything white and fractured and incomprehensible. Like the Decepticons they were unpredictable, and starting to really get on his nerve nodes. 

But one night, one slow, unassuming night as he lay on his berth while Cybertron’s two moons perched above him, the Matrix twisted within his spark chamber. 

He instantly shot upwards, a gasp of pain floating in the darkness. Coolant beaded and trailed down his armour seams, and his helm felt like an Insecticon chew-toy. 

As if that wasn’t enough to ruin his night, someone was watching him. 

But his gears refused to obey him, wires stiff and servos all but frozen. The only movement he could make was his chestplate rising and falling with heavy intakes, and his cooling fans whirring. 

“I apologise that we must meet this way, Optimus,” the white-opticked stranger said, voice unmistakably feminine. “But I have been anxious to see who now carries the Prime legacy, as my brothers have been.”

“You-you are...” Even Optimus’ vocaliser was seizing up as he slowly realised who was standing before him. A small smile revealed itself on a light faceplate as she stepped into the moonlight.

“You know me as Solus.”

“It-It is an honour,” he somehow stuttered, his limbs finally freeing so he could push himself to his peds. The floor felt strange beneath him, as if he was walking on air itself. 

“Forgive me, Solus, but...” He swayed slightly from lingering shock, almost falling back onto the berth. “Why- _how_ are you here?” She smiled again at that.

“I am not,” she explained, slowly stepping closer to him. “Not truly, in a physical form that you could understand. Rather, I am... projecting myself, through the Matrix you now carry.”

“You... the Thirteen... you’ve been speaking to me.”

“Trying to, at least. But it has been eons since our sparks have stirred, and communication is proving... difficult. Now, let me see you.” Solus reached a hand to Optimus’ faceplate, pressing her palm against a cheek and stroking her digits slightly under his chin. Her touch was ghostly, like warm liquid dripping down his face, and blue optics watched her warily. 

“You are born of the Well,” she predicted when her inspection was finished, still pressing a digit gently to his crest. “I can tell from your helm shape, the curve of your plating... only those of Primus’ own blueprints are shaped as you are.”  
Optimus nodded, resisting the urge to reach up to his tingling faceplate. 

“How fitting that Primus chose one of his own to carry his power.” She moved her digits down to his chestplate, feeling the pulse of his spark and the ebbing warmth of what it protected. Optimus’ intakes hissed at her touch, and she lightly pulled away from the sensitive metal. “Your new frame is still adjusting to its new role,” Solus observed. “As I’m sure you know, the Matrix is a volatile, complex force, Optimus. It is alive, independent of any other being. And it as well will take time for it to accept you as its new holder.”

“But that can wait for another time.” Her digits falling away left behind an icy imprint on Optimus’ chest, the chill running to the core of his spark and making him shudder. Solus didn’t see it with her back turned, the strange cables sprouting exposed from her helm hanging long down her spinal strut.

“Instead I want to ask you... about this mech you call Megatron.”

Her voice hadn’t changed, but nevertheless Optimus felt something sharp cutting through the air when she spoke the name of his former brother.

“He named himself after my former comrade, correct?” she went on while he stood awkwardly, painfully out of place in the presence of a goddess. Optimus could only nod.

“ He named himself... after my _murderer_.”

When she whirled around again her optics were narrow; blue braziers burning flames of ice pointed at the floor. She looked up and it was as if she only just remembered Optimus was there. The flames dissipated and she continued calmly;

“As we speak, I can hear the voices of my fellow Primes are all around me. They’d be echoing from my spark if I still possessed one. You heard us too, Optimus.” At least he knew what had caused him so much distraction the past few days.

“But amongst them all, Megatronus’ voice is absent.” Solus’ frosty fires rekindled, making him shrink away slightly. “As such I... we believe that he has managed to reincarnate himself, within Megatron.”

Optimus stared in slack-jaw disbelief. It was hard enough having the mech he called his closest friend become a murderous tyrant, but being the most infamous Prime as well...?

“H-how is that... _possible_?”

“We have our theories,” Solus replied. “Quintus suspects that Megatronus was able to escape our void via celestial fissures in unstable Space Bridges, and his essence was drawn to the Well of All Sparks, where he was reborn. Then again, that’s Quintus. Whatever the method, if we are correct then I’m sure you realise how dire the consequences will be.” 

“Now, this is where I must ask you for a difficult favour, Optimus.”

“You want me to kill Megatron.” She didn’t nod, but neither did she deny Optimus’ statement of the fact. 

“I ask that when the time comes- and it _will_ come, I promise you- that you do not hesitate to do what you must. Whether Megatron and Megatronus are the same mech or not, the fallen Prime _must_ be destroyed, or Cybertron will not be the only planet to suffer.”

Optimus looked away for a long while, choosing his next words carefully. “Is this merely a matter of saving Cybertron, or is it more... personal?”

Solus raised an eyeridge, but at least she didn’t look angry again.

“I am not a vengeful bot. Not often. But to know that Megatronus be put down once again... I will not deny the peace that it would bring to me,” she confessed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Optimus hadn’t realised how close Solus was to him, her chestplates almost brushing against his. It wasn’t unpleasant, but... it didn’t seem right. A shiver passed through him again when she leaned closer, optics dancing as if she was still alive. 

_“Avenge me, Optimus...”_ Her faceplate was close to his own, one hand stroking his face gently, almost _lovingl_ y. Her lips were lifted in a smile and moving closer, closer to his...

He almost touched them before a single word flashed in his dreamy mind. 

_Elita._

“I... I have a bondmate,” he said as he pulled away. Her lidded optics widened, as if in surprise, and her smile disappeared. She sighed, almost sadly. 

“Yes. You do.” Her digits trailed once more down his faceplate before dutifully removing themselves. “Think of her while you rest, Optimus. Think of her safety, of protecting her. For as long as Megatron’s spark still pulses, she will never be safe. No-one will.” Like a trick of the optic she faded, the light of her optics the last to go. 

When Optimus awoke in the dead of the night, he was alone and shivering.


End file.
